Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

A Baby Story (Part 1)

Recently my wife and I discovered that we were expecting our
first child. As a part of this process, we both attended her first major
doctor’s appointment of the pregnancy. While the ratio varies from practitioner
to practitioner, I would estimate that within our 2 ½ hour appointment were we
able to squeeze in about eight minutes of face time with the doctor. The rest
was evenly divided between the waiting room and the insurance “hard sell.”

The “hard sell” consists of being taken into a small office
where a cordial account representative informs you that their organization’s
concern for your fetus is eclipsed only by their willingness to enforce a
strict payment schedule. As with any life changing decision, you are not
without options:

1.Agree to evenly
distribute the total predicted costs of a textbook vaginal delivery over the
next seven months while being constantly reminded that this fee excludes
unforeseen complications, foreseeable but unlikely complications, and
inconsistently-occurring potential complications that have not yet been
assigned a billing code. Also, none of this covers actually being in the
hospital.

2.Pocket the
money, find an instructional YouTube video on midwifery, and begin chipping
away at your spouse’s resolve with statements like “I know you like Dr. Bowmen,
but I am not even sure East Dakota University has a medical school…”

There was a also a surprising moment where the representative
leaned over conspiratorially and informed us that while insurance does not
cover ultrasounds for the specific purpose of determining the child’s gender,
“a situation could arise whereby a medically-necessary test happens to reveal
the gender.” I was unsure if the rep was simply suggesting we shouldn’t rush to
pay out-of-pocket because our curiosity might be satisfying in the normal
course of treatment or hinting that we could save $400 by embellishing my
wife’s genetic risk factors.

The medical questionnaire portion was well executed by the
nurse practitioner. After all, there are only so many ways a woman can be asked
if she uses “recreational drugs” without seeming accusatory. The only time I
participated during this process was when she glanced toward me while asking my
wife if “she knew who the father was.” I was tempted to reply that we had met a
mere fifteen minutes ago in the parking lot where I often come to troll for
emotionally-vulnerable women, but a withering look from my wife convinced me
that my most valuable contribution would be silence.

I am reading several books that promise to prepare expectant
parents for what lies ahead. One contains intermittently-placed margin notes
called “Dad Tips” that serve as a constant reminder that the publisher is long
overdue for a revision. One suggestion was that I purchase “high quality VHS
tapes” to capture the birth. I half expected a chapter on twilight sleep.

There was also a very stern warning against “forcing air into
the vagina” of a pregnant woman as this can cause an embolism. Since this warning
appeared under the “intimacy” section of the book I can only assume there is an
area of carnal recreation I am blissfully unaware of. Up until that point I had
never considered the reverse feature on my shop-vac as an instrument of
seduction. Are there really guys that walk into a the bedroom and say, “You know
honey, the kids are asleep and I still have a little compressed air left in
this can after dusting my keytar.”